


In Which Sephiroth Realizes He Didn't Think This Through

by AimeeLouWrites



Series: Divine Comedy [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Baby Cloud Strife, Cloud Strife Gets a Hug But He's Not Super Happy About It, Cloud Strife Is So Done, Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Happy Ending, Illustrations, Kidnapping, Minor Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough, One Big Happy Family, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, bad guy to dad guy, local genocidal demigod defeated by serotonin and the basic needs of a human child, this is just the sitcom version of 7C9S I don't know what to tell you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24938017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AimeeLouWrites/pseuds/AimeeLouWrites
Summary: Crack spinoff ofSeventh Circle, Ninth Sphere, but can be read aloneFact: Sephiroth stole Cloud away as a baby in order to more easily sway him to his side in the futureFact: Sephiroth knows nothing about babiesFact: Sephiroth didn't think this through
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough & Cloud Strife, Cloud Strife & Vincent Valentine, Sephiroth & Cloud Strife, Sephiroth & Vincent Valentine, Zack Fair & Cloud Strife
Series: Divine Comedy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804864
Comments: 126
Kudos: 631





	1. To Err is Human?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [萨菲罗斯并非算无遗策](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839220) by [paleluna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleluna/pseuds/paleluna)



> The tone is going to go from serious to crack real quick in this first chapter.
> 
> If you've read Seventh Circle, Ninth Sphere, then hello! Here, take a nice, fluffy break from the heart-wrenching pain of 7C9S. You're going to need it before I publish the last chapter! :) 
> 
> The beginning is the same as the first chapter of 7C9S, so unless you want to side-eye my revisions, feel free to skip down to the line "ShinRa is easy to fool."

Fact: the reason you can’t remember being a baby is because an infant’s brain is not developed enough to store episodic memories. This is true until roughly two years of age.

Fact: even if you can’t remember them, experiences in your infant and toddler years predispose you to certain psychological states

Fact: when Cloud Strife is born, Sephiroth is ten years old.

Fact: Gaia is not the only entity with enough power to make time travel a reality.

* * *

When he opens his eyes, he is both timeless and ten years old. The harsh white lighting of his room ( _cell_ ) stings his retinas, making his cat-slit pupils contract into thin slivers. He inhales deeply, a necessary action for the first time in so very long. The air tastes of mako, antiseptic, and bleach. 

The guards didn't ( _don't_ ) watch him through the security cameras all the time. As well-funded as Hojo is, he doesn’t have that many resources to waste. Mostly, whatever bored soldier is on duty stays alert for any sudden movement from him (or the other subjects) and warnings from the monitoring systems. For this reason, they miss the slow, creeping smile that splits his face. 

Even if they'd noticed and had the good sense to be alarmed, it wouldn’t have saved them.

He rises from his bed and calmly rips the door from its housing. And really, he thinks as the screaming begins, punctuated by the liquid squelch of tearing flesh and the crunching of bone, what right do they have to complain? They wanted a god, and a god is what they got.

Pity they didn’t have the intelligence to understand that _creating_ a god and _controlling_ a god are two different things.

The pristine white-and-grey of the basement complex is splattered liberally in blood red and mako green by the time he is finished. He works feverishly over the security center in the control room, flecks of blood spotting the monitors as his stained fingers fly over the keys. Hojo’s paranoia and territoriality over his research are working in Sephiroth’s favor: with some minor interference on his part, no one will even suspect the demise of the research team, much less send SOLDIERs to try and “put him down.”

His lips quirk at the thought. How cute.

He straightens from his bowed position, rolling his shoulders. It’s strange to be confined to an actual, mortal form again. He glances down at the white scrubs ( _white no longer_ ) that cover his child’s body, then reaches up and absently picks a chunk of Hojo’s thoracic vertebrae from where it’s tangled in his hair. Well. He has plenty of time to spare. No reason not to shower and change into something more appropriate before moving on to his next task.

* * *

“Mother,” Sephiroth croons, laying his hand on the tank. There’s no shrine, not yet, and now not ever. There is merely his Mother, suspended in Hojo’s machinery as the mako siphons through her. No answering whisper sings in his mind, but he looks on fondly nonetheless.

Jenova gave him life. Jenova gave him the power to transcend time itself. And now, he’ll take _everything_ Jenova has to give.

Tainted mako spills out in a hissing wave around his boots as he slashes the tank open with a commandeered broadsword. Her dormant body sags around the machinery like sodden cardboard. He reaches out, pressing one small palm to her decayed cheek in a tender gesture.

Her power becomes his ( _again_ ), and Jenova is no more. He is alone.

But not for long.

* * *

Cloud Strife is a pale-skinned infant, fast asleep in a rough wooden cradle. It’s February, so the six-month-old is swathed in Nibel furs against the early spring chill. His eyes, when they flutter open, are an infant’s grey-blue, not yet the bright sapphire they will be. They are certainly not ringed in mako green, shining from the inside like disks of colored glass catching the sun.

There’s no recognition in Cloud’s face as he gazes up at his former equal ( _his god, his everything, even if he refuses to admit it_ ). Of course not, his brain hasn’t yet developed the structures to house his episodic memory, much less rewired itself to accommodate the memories of the man Sephiroth carried all this way. He won’t know ( _won’t resist him_ ) for years yet.

Sephiroth stares down in fascination. 

“Good to see you, Cloud,” he murmurs breathlessly, stroking the back of one finger along a downy, baby-pink cheek the way he caresses Masamune’s blunt spine. Cloud blinks sleepily, squirming, and grasps the finger in one tiny hand. His grip is appallingly weak.

“Don’t worry,” Sephiroth croons, freeing his hand to begin bundling his lifelong enemy ( _sole and eternal_ _equal_ ) into a transportable loaf of baby-and-blankets. “Soon, you’ll be stronger than you ever could have dreamed. Is that not what you’ve always wanted? What you’ve only _ever_ wanted?” 

Cloud snuffles as Sephiroth lifts him from the cradle. Even with several sturdy furs, the bundle weighs practically nothing. He can’t resist pushing them away to gaze down into that little, uncomprehending face. “All this for you, Cloud,” he promises in a reverent whisper as those hazy gray eyes blink up at him. “Only ever for you.”

* * *

He returns to the labs, easily skirting past the oblivious support staff in the mansion proper before descending back into the basement. Cloud sneezes at the pungent miasma of slowly decaying viscera mixed with acrid mako. Sephiroth strokes an absent hand through baby-fine blond hair as he reads through Hojo’s notes. He can’t afford to make a mistake with this.

In the end, though, it’s simple enough: Sephiroth’s blood, as well as mako laced with his cells, are all he needs to ensure the return of his equal to his side, even if he must wait a few years to see that power grow to full bloom. Cloud will be stronger than ever before, a true challenger even with Sephiroth incarnate and fully possessed of his Mother’s power. The very thought makes his blood sing in anticipation, but he must be patient.

“Soon,” he promises the infant dozing in his arms. Abruptly, he wonders if his ten-year-old body is affecting him more than he assumed it would. He certainly doesn’t remember his adult body ever feeling this… giddy.

No matter. He rips a plexiglass viewing dome from a demolished cage and rigs a makeshift cradle from it, then sets about preparing the injections and calibrating the mako tank ( _the same tank that gave him his own enhancements_ ) for it’s next ( _last, tiny_ ) inhabitant. 

* * *

When a familiar presence stirs finally ( _finally_ ) to life in the back of his mind, S-cells integrating into the tiny form floating curled-up in the green light of the tank, Sephiroth’s breath catches in his throat. Little blue eyes flutter open behind the full-face breathing mask, just for a moment, meeting his enthralled gaze before sliding shut once more.

Sephiroth decides he’s never seen anything as beautiful as those blue irises ringed with mako green.

* * *

ShinRa is easy to fool. As Cloud floats serenely in the mako (drugged to the gills; Sephiroth has long since learned not to underestimate him, even if he is a baby at the moment) he composes fake progress reports, personnel evaluations, budget breakdowns, and requisition forms. The staff in the mansion above are methodically dismissed, replaced by ‘new hires’ that exist solely on paper to fool the company bureaucracy. In six months, only the two time travelers will remain.

The Turks are undoubtedly suspicious at the sudden turnover, but Hojo’s reputation and influence are enough to keep them away. And if they did find out somehow, what could they possibly do? Even in a ten-year-old body, Sephiroth is the most powerful being on the planet. He is exactly where he wants to be and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him.

He trains while he waits, pushing his child’s body to its limits. This, at least, is the same as the first time around. Cloud sleeps, growing and strengthening as the mako and S-cells integrate into him, laying the groundwork for enhancement beyond what even Hojo gave him. Six months pass. The mansion above becomes empty and silent. Supplies, some necessary, some for cover, are dropped off at the gates on weekly intervals. He brings them in at night, sorting and putting them away himself. It’s mundane, but he is a god. Gods don’t get _bored._

_(The several… inventive… hairstyles he attempts on himself are purely because he wants to and for no other reason._

_And also have nothing to do with his decision to cut his hair to his shoulders.)_

The first hint that he didn’t _quite_ think everything through in his plan for World Conquest With Cloud At His Side comes in the form of Cloud nearly dying.

It’s alarming, beyond alarming, because at first there seems to be no reason for it. Cloud is fed the same nutritionally complete formula Sephiroth grew up on. The mako levels in his tank are perfectly and precisely calibrated. His muscles and nerves are being stimulated at empirically-determined intervals to develop appropriate muscle tone and provide proprioceptive feedback to his developing nervous system. Sephiroth’s cells have integrated seamlessly into Cloud’s body, as evidenced by the vague but strong connection between their minds.

So why does the child begin to spontaneously _waste away_ like an invalid? 

In a fervor, he reviews all the scientific literature on infancy he can get his hands on and comes to the obvious conclusion: he knows absolutely nothing about children.

As it would turn out, providing pro-social tactile stimuli to human children is not optional. Strange (he certainly can't remember anyone touching him outside of combat in his own childhood), but he’s an adaptable sort. He can adjust. Twice a week, he brings Cloud out of the mako and carries him around in a sling for twenty-four hours. According to the studies he read, skin-to-skin contact is the most efficient way of fulfilling minimum touch requirements, so he forgoes a shirt for the duration.

( _It is not snuggling. Gods do not snuggle their foes, not even to keep them alive._ )

By week two of the new schedule, Sephiroth comes to the very scientific conclusion that babies are soft, warm, and squishy. 

Even babies that would otherwise grow up to kill him several times in a row.

He also allows Cloud to regain consciousness on those days, since apparently social interaction with the caregiver is vital to infant neurodevelopment. Cloud is glassy-eyed and distressed at first, but recovers quickly. Still lacking the capacity to hate him, he treats Sephiroth with a baby’s easy and unconditional affection, burbling happily as he chews on his fist and smooshes his cheek against his mortal enemy’s chest. 

It makes Sephiroth feel strange inside, but he attributes that to the fact that he is mentally connected to a literal baby. There’s bound to be some strangeness.

Six more months pass. Sephiroth brings Cloud out of the mako tank permanently, guiding him through the process of adjusting to inhuman strength. The toddler’s eyes are half blue, half green, with pupils that elongate at the slightest emotional upset. He wonders if they will become like his, permanently slit, by the time Cloud is grown.

It’s easy to see the nascent traits of Cloud the man in Cloud the toddler. He’s quiet, though not shy. His hair defies all attempts to be tamed. He’s largely pliant and agreeable, but when he digs in his heels even Sephiroth cannot sway him. His tantrums tear metal and shatter glass. If Sephiroth were anyone else, he would have been dead several times over from the toddler’s emotional outbursts.

It pleases him immensely.

Another year passes. Cloud’s memories begin to surface—not enough for conscious recall, no, but enough for night terrors and semi-frequent headaches. Sephiroth spends a lot more time than he anticipated doing the whole ‘gentle tactile stimulation for caregiver bonding’ exercise in order to soothe Cloud’s distress. It’s the only thing that calms the boy down.

( _One day, he’ll look back and finally be man enough to admit that he was snuggling his glorious rival. That day is not today._ )

Between calming Cloud and training, Sephiroth also teaches his body to summon his wing, returning to him the power of flight. To his surprise, Cloud’s fascinated observation of his practice ends in not one, but _two_ tiny white wings sprouting from the toddler’s back. A proper symmetrical pair, unlike Sephiroth’s single dramatic extra limb. They’re both equally thrilled, all the way up until the moment when Sephiroth realizes that Cloud is now capable of flight.

And can get places he shouldn’t be.

And is too strong to be penned in by mortal means.

_Oh no._

Privy to his thoughts, the little demon giggles and takes off, scrambling into one of the smaller duct systems before Sephiroth can stop him. No amount of threatening gets him to come out, and the underdeveloped nature of Cloud’s brain makes it impossible to compel him to obey (a realization Sephiroth is _extraordinarily unhappy_ to come to). The two-and-a-half-year-old is surprisingly stealthy too; the only reason Sephiroth can track his general location through the walls and ceiling is because of their connection.

Six hours later, when Cloud has finally been recovered from the ducts and is soundly asleep on his shoulder, covered in enough dust to make his hair resemble Sephiroth’s, he realizes that maybe, just _maybe,_ despite the fact that he is a god, he may have, possibly, not thought this whole thing through. 

Maybe.

“I should have snagged you when you had mako poisoning,” he mutters to the sleeping toddler. Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “And now I have to give you another bath.” He pinches harder. “...and baby-proof the vents.”

Why did he do this again?

...

Right, right, the ultimate victory: winning the planet _and_ Cloud’s (arguably) voluntary compliance at the same time. It will all be worth it in the end.

Probably.

Sephiroth must be very bad at baby-proofing, because Cloud’s forays into the ventilation systems become a semi-regular occurrence. It makes him want to tear his hair out in frustration, but there’s really not much else he can do since Cloud (and him too, he supposes) needs to, you know, _breathe._

He tries to ‘operant condition’ Cloud into obeying him about the vents, bribing him with extra sparring time to come out. The little demon just cackles and crawls deeper into the duct system, which is understandable since he likes annoying Sephiroth a lot more than he likes sparring.

Suddenly, Cloud freezes in place. Their mental connection sharpens from the dull haze of a toddler’s thoughts, then splinters with terror before being strangled to near-nothingness on Cloud’s end. Sephiroth pauses in the middle of threatening no dessert for a week, silver brows furrowing. His eyes widen in realization. Cloud’s memories must have finally become fully accessible. 

While he’s crawling around in the air ducts. 

Where even Sephiroth can’t reach him.

And has SOLDIER strength.

And is also able to fly.

_Shit._

An offended screech tears through the ducts: “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!” 

Well, sort of. He’s both unused to the new shape of his mouth and quite distressed, so it really sounds more like _“WUH DA FUH DI‘OO DO?”_

Oh, this is not ideal. 

Inspiration strikes. Sephiroth reaches out again, intent on compelling Cloud to obey him now that his adult awareness has returned. _Come to me, Cloud, come to me, out of the ducts, get back here you little shit I swear to Mother—_

Cloud is having none of it. Incandescently angry and also teetering wildly between the sharp intellect of an adult and the uncontrollable emotion of his toddler body, he throws off Sephiroth’s command with the mental equivalent of a bitch slap. A wordless scream of adult-fueled toddler rage howls through the ducts, along with the mental impression of a _lot_ of swear words and, oddly, a blond man’s face.

He doesn’t know what to make of that last part. 

Cloud starts moving again. With the boy doing everything in his power to dampen their connection it’s difficult to track him, but Sephiroth manages after a few false starts. He has to locate and bust down a hidden door, but he finds Cloud out of the vents in a crypt (!?) that he had _no idea_ was there _seriously what the fuck Hojo—_

He also finds a bewildered-looking man dressed in red being accosted by his boy, both of them sitting in an open coffin. He catches the tail end of whatever Cloud was saying (with surprisingly clear diction, apparently the boy adapts quickly) as he busts in: “—swear Vincent, your demon spawn of a son _dragged me back in time,_ we need to _go—_ ”

“Cloud,” Sephiroth growls, eyeing the man in red (Vincent? He feels like he should remember that name), “you will _obey—_ ” He pauses as Cloud’s words finally register, blinking rapidly. “I—did you just say I’m his son?”

Cloud yelps, scrambling up Vincent’s torso and summarily attaching himself to his back like a feathery blond backpack. _“Go!_ We’ve gotta get out of here!”

“Don’t you dare!” Sephiroth snaps, taking a threatening step forward. It probably doesn’t look that intimidating given that he’s twelve, but he does it anyway. The issue of his suddenly uncertain parentage takes a back seat. “You will _not_ defy me, Cloud!”

Cloud growls like an angry kitten, ducking down until only his furious little eyes poke out over Vincent’s cloak. “Fuck off!”

[ ](https://imgur.com/VM1yXvZ)

The red-cloaked man glances back and forth between them as they argue. “What?” he asks plaintively, and is ignored.

“Cloud, come here,” Sephiroth says firmly, “or I will _make you_ come here.”

The blond’s eyes narrow to slivers, slit-pupiled and glowing like embers with the force of his emotions. “Try it, asshole,” he snarls. “I don’t need Vincent’s help to hurt you.”

Sephiroth snorts derisively. “Cloud. You are a toddler. What exactly do you think you could accomplish?”

“Alright, stop, stop,” Vincent interjects, jumping out of the coffin with a grace that even Sephiroth can envy. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are two unsupervised children arguing in my crypt?”

“I will gladly explain if you give me Cloud first,” Sephiroth says, holding his hands out pointedly.

“He’s a fucking liar! He’d probably just kill you!”

“I’m not stupid enough to kill someone who has even the faintest chance of being my father,” Sephiroth snaps back impatiently. “What, you think I _want_ to be related to Hojo? I killed the man first chance I got!”

Vincent blinks. “Wait. Sephiroth?”

“Yes?”

Silence hangs awkwardly between them for a moment. Vincent suddenly looks dazed, as if he fit the last piece of a puzzle together and was promptly decked in the face for his efforts “I...think I need to sit down for a moment.”

Cloud groans in defeat.

* * *

* * *

**Naginamini tagged this as Cloud "after he realizes Vincent is not on his side" and that made me cry-laugh so that's the caption we're going with**

* * *


	2. Cloud Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some perspectives on Cloud throughout the years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY cracky this time! Lots of self indulgence and audience indulgence.
> 
> Also, I added a shitpost illustration to the end of chapter one.

Vincent doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. Well, no, he does actually, but… surely this is too much? Even for his crimes?

For the past two hours, he’s been pacing the length of the hall as the toddler in his arms alternates between wretched sobbing and the kind of enraged cursing that would make a sailor blush. Every so often the deliberate, gentle rocking of Vincent’s steps finally seems to soothe him, but as soon as he realizes he’s being soothed he gets pissed off on principle and the cycle repeats. Vincent doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

“Fucking toddler emotions,” Cloud says furiously, voice cracking as he starts to break down in tears again. Vincent has his little blonde head pressed firmly to his shoulder, more to muffle the cursing than for comfort. “Put me down.” In direct contradiction to his demand, both of his hands remain tightly fisted in Vincent’s red cloak.

“Not until you’re calm,” the former Turk repeats for the thirty-fourth time, hefting Cloud a little higher in his arms. It’s lucky his strength rivals a SOLDIER’s now, or he never would have been able to keep Cloud from squirming free and running off to be self-destructive where no one could stop him.

_“I AM CALM!”_

“Cloud, you’re screaming,” Sephiroth points out blandly from his position at his possibly-father's back. His unwavering attention on Cloud may, possibly, have been contributing to the toddler’s wildly fluctuating emotions. Unfortunately, Vincent has only known the children for two weeks and Sephiroth utterly refuses to cede any of his authority over Cloud—even to his probable father and literally the only adult present.

This, Vincent supposes, is what happens when one lab experiment child attempts to raise another lab experiment child.

He briefly shuts his eyes as Cloud spits a string of truly inventive insults at the twelve-year-old before dissolving back into incoherent sobs. “Sephiroth,” he says exhaustedly, “you’re not helping.”

* * *

“What the hell are you doing!” Vincent yells in a panic, putting himself bodily between Cloud and Sephiroth as he snatches the three-year-old up by the scruff.

Seph just looks puzzled, lowering his short but very much real blade. “...sparring?” he says slowly, clearly questioning Vincent’s mental capacities.

“Sparring using— _Cloud, let me see what you have!”_

The little blonde, dangling in his grip, raises his weapon demonstratively. “A knife!”

“NO!” Vincent blurts, quickly disarming the toddler. He turns a furious look on Sephiroth. “Why does he have a knife!”

“For sparring,” Cloud and Sephiroth say simultaneously. The _duh_ goes unsaid but not unheard.

Vincent resists the urge to massage his temples. His kids—and they are his now, regardless of their own opinions on the matter—are going to give him a heart attack one of these days. Why do they have to be so godsdamned _weird?_

“Sephiroth,” he says, trying for patience, “A knife is not an appropriate sparring weapon for a toddler.”

The children exchange a glance. “But Cloud isn’t really a toddler,” Sephiroth reasons.

Vincent wishes he could dig Hojo up just to kill him again. What the hell had the man been thinking, shoving manufactured memories into the children’s heads and convincing them they were from the future? What was that even meant to accomplish? He doesn’t bother arguing with them about it anymore, though. They’re both as adamant about being time-travellers as most children are about Santa Claus existing.

“It doesn’t matter how old his mind is,” Vincent replies, “he’s still in the body of a toddler. Use blunted training weapons only or I’ll revoke your sparring privileges.”

The pouts the boys aim at him are identical.

* * *

Angeal blinks at the sight before him, unsure what to make of it. “Ah,” he says hesitantly, unable to look away, “sir, what is…?”

SOLDIER Second Class Sephiroth, age fourteen, blinks at him in return. “Hm?”

“I think he’s referring to me,” grinds out the four-year-old attached to the metal baby leash currently clipped to Sephiroth’s sword harness. He looks mutinous at best, murderous at worst.

“I...was, yes,” says Angeal slowly. Sephiroth glances down, as if a SOLDIER toting around a toddler is an everyday occurrence. Well, maybe it is. This is Angeal’s first day as a Third Class, after all.

“Cloud runs away if I don’t keep a grip on him,” Sephiroth explains.

The little blond’s expression darkens into ‘genocidal’ territory and—is that a _mako glow_ in his eyes? What the hell?

Angeal opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. “Yes sir,” he says, “but I—forgive me for speaking freely, but are you sure he should be attached to you when we're supposed to be killing monsters? Shouldn’t he stay at the Tower?”

Sephiroth stares at Angeal as if he just suggested chucking the boy down the nearest garbage chute: offended and a little disbelieving. “Cloud gets grumpy if I don’t let him play with me,” he says and yeah, alright, Angeal does _not_ feel like unpacking that one at the moment.

[ ](https://imgur.com/yCcREDF)

Cloud mutters some choice phrases no one outside of the Navy should know and makes grabby hands at Sephiroth. “Gimme my knives,” he demands.

_His_ knives? Is this insane teenager giving a toddler _knives?_ Angeal knew joining an elite cadre of mako-enhanced super-soldiers was bound to be a little weird, but...what the hell did he get himself into, if they’re giving babies deadly weapons!?

Sephiroth levels Cloud with a stern look while Angeal is busy reeling. "Are you going to try and stab me again?"

"...no," grumbles Cloud reluctantly.

_What,_ thinks Angeal, who no longer has any idea what's going on.

"Good boy," says Sephiroth, taking two long knives from his belt and attaching them to the same tiny metal harness the baby leash is hooked to. "Lets go."

For a lack of anything better to do and out of serious concern for the wellbeing of the little blond four-year-old attached to his superior officer, Angeal follows.

* * *

Cloud, age five, is woken suddenly from his totally voluntary and not at all necessary midday nap when slender arms curl beneath him and haul him up off of Sephiroth’s couch, blankets and all.

“Mwah?” he says, groggily struggling to free his hands and rub the grit from his eyes.

“My baby,” a woman whispers. Cloud freezes, heart stuttering in his chest as he comes face-to-face with teary blue eyes identical to his own.

“Mama?” he blurts out.

Claudia Strife sobs joyfully and tucks his head beneath her chin, holding so tight that a non-enhanced child would have been complaining. “My Cloud,” she says, choked. “Yeah, baby, I’m your mama. I’m so happy to see you again. You’ve...you’ve gotten so  _ big _ .”

He turns his head slightly to the right, bewildered even as he worms his arms free from the blankets to wrap around his mother’s neck. Vincent is standing by the door to Seph’s office, watching the pair with an aching kind of warmth. “Sorry it took so long,” he murmurs into his collar, low enough that only Cloud can hear.

_ Oh,  _ thinks Cloud, too overwhelmed to respond. He shuts his eyes and presses his nose to the column of his mama’s throat, breathing in the scent of home he had nearly forgotten.  _ Maybe this isn’t so bad after all. _

* * *

A man in red comes waltzing into their camp in Wutai, carrying a familiar, flailing little six-year-old under his arm like a piece of luggage. Genesis stares, uncertain if he should be stopping the man or casting Sleep on Cloud just to make him stop howling threats.

“Ah...sir?” he says, glancing furtively around. “You should probably put Cloud down before the General sees you.” After the Forty-Two Spoons Incident, even the Wutai soldiers know better than to try grabbing Cloud without Sephiroth’s explicit permission.

The man waves a hand, casually snagging Cloud by the ankle when the boy manages to squirm free for a brief second. “Sephiroth won’t hurt me.”

“ _I_ will hurt you if you don’t put me the _fuck_ down, Vincent!” says Cloud, kicking ineffectually at the wrist of the hand holding him suspended upside down. His little face is crimson, though Genesis can’t tell if it’s from being upside down or from his latest tantrum.

“You hush,” 'Vincent' scolds. “You lost your walking privileges.”

_“Walking_ is not a _privilege!”_

“It wouldn’t be if you stopped trying to run off and get yourself killed.”

“I’m _not—I—_ why can’t you just—GRAHHH I HATE YOU _SO MUCH!”_

Vincent pats his calf consolingly. “I know, kiddo.”

Genesis narrows his eyes a little. He’d assumed Sephiroth was the kid’s de facto dad (however _that_ had happened), but the way this Vincent guy is talking makes him think that he might have found the blond’s actual, if incredibly irresponsible, father.

“CLOUD!”

Well, speak of the devil. Genesis half turns to see Sephiroth storming down the path toward them, his expression the picture of righteous fury. Cloud freezes for a moment before redoubling his efforts. Unfortunately, he only manages to wiggle his trapped foot halfway out of his boot before Sephiroth is upon them.

“I hope you have a good explanation for this or so help me, I _will_ bring the baby leash back out!”

“I will strangle you with it in your sleep,” Cloud promises as Sephiroth swoops him up from Vincent and tosses him over his shoulder, making the blond _oof_ in surprise. “Wh—hey! Put me down!”

“You’ve lost your walking privileges.”

_“Walking_ is not a—ugh! You have no right! I am not a child!”

“Yes, you are,” say Vincent, Sephiroth, and Genesis as one. 

“I can and will call your mother,” Vincent adds.

“Ma’d be on _my_ side! She doesn’t _want_ me to be here!”

“She wants you safe,” says Sephiroth, walking back into camp with Vincent on his heels, “which you would not be if you hared off into the wilderness!”

“I’d rather take my chances with that than you, you psychopath!”

Sephiroth groans. “Is this because I made you take a nap yesterday?”

Cloud steams like a teakettle. “It’s because of _how_ you made me take a nap you—” He dissolves back into curses so furious that Vincent finally puts a hand over his mouth just before they pass out of Genesis’s hearing range.

The teenage SOLDIER Second watches them go with a slight pout, reluctantly turning his attention back to his post. Just when it was getting good too… Still, he’s got something to gossip with Ange about later: where oh where is Missus Strife, and why did she ( _ willingly? _ ) leave her baby with a SOLDIER First?

He bites back a grin. What delicious possibilities to amuse himself with.

* * *

Zack doesn’t really know what he did to get a little blonde twelve-year-old attached to his person within one week of joining ShinRa as a cadet, but he’s not going to complain. Cloudy needs a friend! And maybe a little bit (or a lot) of family therapy, but a friend is a good place to start.

“So,” he says sympathetically, arm around the sulking ball of knees and elbows and chocobo-like spikes that is Cloud Strife, “you got five parents, huh?”

“Exactly _one_ of them is actually my parent” Cloud snaps without emerging from his little defensive huddle. “Everyone else just—just fucking... _adopted me!_ Like an abandoned baby Chocobo! This is ridiculous! I am a grown-ass man!”

Zack side-eyes the tiny, _tiny_ preteen blond incredulously but doesn’t bother arguing the point. “I dunno, man. I think it sounds kinda nice, having so many people look out for you.”

Cloud lifts his head just enough to offer a scowl before dropping it back to his knees. “You’re not going to be saying that once Angeal “Mother Hen” Hewley takes you on as his apprentice. Overbearing is the mildest way to describe him and frankly, I suspect my presence made him much worse now than before.”

Zack blinks, because _what?_ “Huh? Apprentice? I know I’m pretty awesome, Cloudy-boy, but I doubt one of the Famous Firsts is going to notice me.”

“Hmph. Yeah, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to _escape.”_

_“There you are!”_

The new voice startles both boys. Cloud _eeps_ as a hand snags him by the collar and hauls him up. “Thought you could skip out on training, did you pipsqueak?” says Genesis Rhapsodos, raising the boy to eye level with one arm.

“Sir!” Zack gasps, scrambling upright to offer a salute.

“At ease, kid,” the Commander says, waving a hand as he sets Cloud down and shifts his grip to the pre-teen’s sword harness. He peers closer at Zack, cocking his head like a curious bird. “So, you’re the one our little Stormcloud’s been trying to keep quiet about, hmm?”

“Ah,” says Zack, freezing instinctively. What? The Crimson Commander knows his little friend?

Wait— _Stormcloud?_ As in, the infamous young Wutai veteran?

Cloud kicks Genesis’s shin with a truly inspiring amount of irreverence. “Leave him alone!”

“What,” says Genesis, pressing his free hand to his chest in not-entirely-feigned outrage, “can I not keep tabs on my own apprentice’s friends? Especially given that you currently have only the _one,_ chickabo?”

_Apprentice???_

...wait, he's Cloud's only friend? Aww!

“I am _not_ your apprentice,” Cloud grinds out.

“Yes, you are,” Genesis says in the laughing tone of someone re-treading a well-worn argument. “And Seph’s, and Ange’s, and Vincent's, and technically your mother’s as well.” He sighs and addresses Zack, moving his free hand from his chest to his hip. “Can you believe he thinks that’s a _bad_ thing, cadet…?”

“Cadet Zack Fair, sir,” he says, ignoring Cloud’s frantic head shaking. His mind is finally connecting the dots between Cloud's vague complaints about ‘three overbearing SOLDIER father figures’ and the so-called ‘Holy Trinity.’ Just what the hell had Cloud done to get himself summarily adopted by the strongest men in the world? “Cloudy doesn’t like talking about specifics much, but uh...I did get that impression, yeah. He doesn’t like attention. Sir.”

A wicked gleam enters Genesis’s eye. He seems wholly unconcerned when Cloud starts earnestly trying to break free, adjusting to the blond’s efforts with the ease of one well-practiced at it. “I think I like you, Cadet Fair,” he declares. “You’ve only known him what, a week? Very impressive. Why don’t you come and join us—Cloud, stop it—come join us today for training? I’m sure the others would be _delighted_ to meet you.”

“Zack don’t do it!” begs Cloud, but it’s too late. There’s a dazed, curious, disbelieving, hero-worshiping, friend-supporting light in his eyes.

“Wow sir, I, uh, yes, of course,” he stammers.

“Nooo,” moans Cloud, dragging his hands down his face.

Zack recovers a little, grinning, and slings his arm around the blond’s shoulders, just above where Genesis is still holding the harness. “Aww, don’t be like that, Cloud. It’ll be fun!”

“You,” Cloud says, defeated, “are not allowed to blame me once Angeal gets his hands on you.”


	3. To Forgive, Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head, but Mama Strife makes everyone use their words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added quite a few illustrations since I posted chapter two. One in each chapter, I think?
> 
> Special thanks to Orange_Clown for prompting the first scene! Ange and Gen and Seph are very subtle :)

“Hey, Cloud,” says Zack, polishing off the last of a SOLDIER-sized hot fudge sundae, “they _do_ know that we’re legally adults, right? Like, they know that we’re legally independent as soon as we hit Third Class?”

Cloud levels the fourteen-year-old SOLDIER Third with a Look. “Yes, Zack,” he says, “they know.” He glances over in the direction Zack is glaring and finds, to his utter lack of surprise, that Angeal and Genesis are positioned ‘inconspicuously’ a few tables away. He then leans over a little, peering up from beneath the umbrella over their cafe table and—yep, sure enough, Sephiroth is looming ominously on top of the building across from them. He sighs and slumps back in his chair. “They just don’t care.”

Despite the fact that Cloud could take down a Nibel dragon single-handedly and Zack could put up a pretty decent fight himself, they’re _still_ being babysat. Maybe he should just be grateful that Angeal doesn’t make him hold his hand when they cross the street anymore.

Cloud scowls irritably at the thought and goes back to finishing his own sundae.

* * *

Cloud sneaks into the Church through the back entrance, dressed in a pretty pink sundress with his hair hanging free around his face. There’s not a chance in hell that any of the people who saw him on his way here made the connection between a little blond preteen in a dress and SOLDIER’s Golden Archangel. He also left everything that could possibly have a tracker on it in Angeal’s apartment _and_ he timed his little excursion to a day when both Vicent and Sephiroth are out of Midgar until the evening. If he doesn’t get away with doing this _one thing_ by himself, he’s going to strangle someone.

He’s barely stepped into the chapel when a girl gasps and exclaims, _“Cloud?”_

His head shoots around, taken aback not by the voice, but by the recognition in it. Wild hope explodes in his chest. “Aerith!” he cries, hurrying toward her.

She’s kneeling by her flowers, dressed in a gauzy, tiered white dress not unlike his own. Her green eyes are wide, first with shock, then with growing delight. “Oh look at you!” she squeals, scrambling to her feet and rushing over. “My goodness! Did you pick that out yourself? You’re so _cute!”_

[ ](https://imgur.com/zkjBw8f)

“You...you remember?” he asks as she takes his hands in her own. With him being thirteen and her being fifteen, she’s quite a bit taller than him. He tries not to think about it too much.

She winces a little and presses their joined hands into a clasp. “Well,” she hedges, tilting her head side-to-side, “...not exactly. I’m sorry, but I’m not the Aerith you knew. It’s more like she sent me some memories through the lifestream.”

He tries not to feel utterly crushed but fails. “Oh.”

“Aww, no sad eyes!” she coos, which does successfully replace said ‘sad eyes’ with an affronted glare. “Oh, and she also wanted me to do—this!” Before he can dodge, she swoops down and plants a loud, sloppy kiss on his cheek.

_“Aerith!”_ he squeaks in outrage, torn between scowling at the girl in front of him and, for lack of a more obvious connection to the lifestream, at the flowerbed. Her hands grip tighter when he tries to tug his free and he doesn’t want to use SOLDIER strength on her ( _ever_ ), so he settles for irritably wiping his cheek on his shoulder. “Eeew...”

Aerith laughs brightly and changes the subject before he can get really mad. “Did you come here to find me, Cloud?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, relaxing a little. “I just...wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“Took you a while,” she teases cheekily.

Cloud’s scowl deepens. “ _Not_ my fault,” he says. “Dunno how, but I got five overprotective adults watching me _all the time._ This is one of the first times the two who can track me easily have been gone at the same time. I can’t stay long anyways.”

Her head tilts slightly. She still hasn’t let go of his hands. “Why? The Turks barely keep half an eye on me nowadays. With Hojo gone I’m so much safer than I was before. Not completely, of course, but now it's unlikely that someone will remind the President I exist, much less ask that I be brought in.”

“Safe from being experimented on, yeah,” Cloud agrees, glancing shiftily at the doors. “Not safe from being dragged into my weird family structure, though.”

Aerith’s high, delighted laugh echoes through the chapel like a church bell. “Aw, Cloud, what if I want to be dragged in?”

“For my sake...please don’t.”

* * *

“So, Cloud,” says Mama Strife at dinner that night, “what’s this I hear about you having a new girlfriend?”

Cloud drops his fork with a clatter. “What?” he squeaks.

“So you _weren’t_ holding hands with a pretty girl in the slums today?” she asks mildly, fixing him with a piercing blue stare.

He realizes immediately what happened and turns an accusing glare on Vincent and Sephiroth. “That was a _test_ wasn’t it!”

Vincent meets his gaze evenly, but Cloud has known the man long enough to see _pleased-yet-disappointed_ in the set of his eyebrows. “Which you failed.”

“We will be discussing the issue of your continued supervision later,” Sephiroth adds.

Cloud makes a strangling gesture at him, wordless with rage. The others he can begrudgingly pardon for not knowing what he actually is, but Seph is the motherfucking son of a bitch who put him here _in the first place._

“Enough,” says Mama Strife, unquestionable head of their odd little household. “Cloud, I asked you a question.”

“Aerith is _not_ my girlfriend,” he manages to choke out, red with both anger and embarrassment. Without thinking, he adds, “she’s Zack’s.”

“She’s _WHAT?”_ says everyone, including Zack.

Angeal rounds on his student. “You have a girlfriend?” The wounded _and you didn’t tell me?_ goes unsaid.

“I didn’t know I had a girlfriend,” Zack protests, bewildered.

“How do you not know you have a girlfriend,” Genesis asks incredulously. The fork that paused halfway to his mouth at the beginning of the discussion finally loses the meatball it was carrying, which drops back onto his plate with a wet splorch of marinara. He doesn’t notice.

Cloud eyes the door and ponders the odds of making a break for it. When he quickly sweeps his gaze around the table, though, he finds that Vincent is watching him knowingly. _Right,_ he thinks to himself, sinking a little lower in his chair. He decides to take mercy on Zack, since no one is bothering to ask any logical questions about his thoughtless deflection.

“Uh, sorry, I meant that Aerith _will be_ Zack’s girlfriend.”

Everyone, even Sephiroth, stares.

“Cloud,” says Zack, touched, “did you sneak out to get me a girlfriend?” He sniffles a little, eyes glistening. “You’re the best friend ever, man!”

_I should have just made a break for it,_ Cloud decides.

* * *

Each blow they exchange has the force of an earthquake, shaking the ground and sending shockwaves rippling through the air. They move so fast that their blades sing, punctuated by the percussion of clashing metal when they meet. Spells fly in a dizzying conflagration, enveloping them in a mile-wide sphere of smoke and mist and dust as they match each other step-for-step.

“Quit it!” yells Cloud, deflecting Masamune with a twist of his wrist.

“Not until you join me!” Sephiroth responds, sweeping his sword arm back before changing trajectory mid-air and tackling the young blond. They go down together, squalling and exchanging blows with their free hands, swords mutually trapped.

Cloud rips away a few dozen yards above the ground, pushing back with a powerful flap of his wings to put some distance between them. He scowls, swiping the back of his wrist across his forehead. It doesn’t do much other than smear the dripping blood.

“Just admit it already!” Sephiroth demands, pointing Masamune and puffing up like an affronted bird. “You belong with me forever!” Had they been on the ground, he probably would have stamped one foot like a petulant six-year-old.

“No I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!”

“NO!”

“YES!”

_“BOYS!”_

A worn boot comes flying out of nowhere to smack Sephiroth in the side of the head. He yelps, reeling to the side. Cloud laughs, only for a second boot to introduce itself to his temple and knock him silly.

“GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!”

“Mama?” Cloud says in surprise, rubbing the side of his head. He and Sephiroth both look down to find a fire-eyed Mama Strife standing below them, barefoot with hands on hips. Vincent stands next to her, looking equally displeased, and behind them are Genesis, Angeal, and Zack.

“YOU’VE GOT ‘TILL THE COUNT OF THREE! ONE—”

Cloud immediately folds his wings and plummets, terrified. He hits the ground in a crouch, noting with the part of his brain that isn’t cringing in fear of his Ma that Sephiroth also had the good sense to drop. 

“Ma,” he says weakly, holding his empty hand up, “I can exp—”

“Explain?” says Mama Strife, storming up to the quailing pair. “You’re damn right you’re gonna explain, starting with why you two are out here trying to _kill each other!_ ”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him!” Sephiroth protests.

“I was,” Cloud mutters, then yelps when his Ma grabs hold of his ear and drags him down to her height.

“Cloud _Strife,_ what has gotten into you!”

"He started it!" Cloud whines.

"I don't care who started it, I'm going to end it!" Mama Strife snaps, turning her ferocious glare on Seph even as she holds Cloud still. "What were you thinking?"

Sephiroth scowls down at the ground and mumbles "I just want him to admit he belongs with me forever, that's all. He's being stubborn about it."

"And you thought you would accomplish this by besting him in a fight?" Vincent interjects, arching one brow sharply at his son.

Seph scowls harder. "Fighting's the whole point!"

Mama Strife sighs and turns her eyes heavenward for a moment, seemingly entreating the gods for patience. “Seph. Sweetheart. Why would you think that Cloud is going to stop sparring with you? It’s practically all you boys do!”

Sephiroth blinks slowly, catlike, and suddenly looks quite a bit younger than his twenty-six years. “Ah,” he says, then stops.

She sighs again, releasing Cloud’s ear and taking hold of her son’s shoulders instead. “Cloud, baby, tell your brother that you’re not going to abandon him and go gallivanting off to spar with someone else.”

Cloud starts to protest. “But I don’t want—”

“Bullshit,” Mama Strife says brusquely. “You love sparring with him. He’s the only one you can trust right now to be ok if you go all out, isn’t that right?”

Cloud opens his mouth and then shuts it with a click, looking remarkably like a spooked Chocobo. “I—ah. Oh... _oooooh...”_

Sephiroth suddenly looks hopeful, staring at Cloud with puppy eyes worthy of Zack.

(“Is that what I look like?” Zack mutters to Angeal, who nods absently. “Goddamn, I’m cute as all hell.”

"Language," says Angeal, because old habits die hard.)

“If you…” Cloud starts haltingly, looking anywhere but at Sephiroth, “If you just want to spar with me, then...I’ll spar with you forever, okay? Just me though, got it? You’re not allowed to hurt anyone else.”

Mama Strife whacks Cloud lightly across the shoulders. “Come on now, sweetness, don’t be so mean. Give it a few years yet and Gen and Ange will be able to go toe-to-toe with Seph too, guaranteed.” She sighs and shakes her head despairingly. Vincent chuffs in amusement. “Honestly, you young people. You think if you can’t accomplish it by twenty-five, it’s never going to happen.”

Cloud groans, spying a new gleam in Sephiroth’s eye, “Oh no, Ma, you gave him an _idea!”_

* * *

Three millenia later, Cloud lays with his head in his Ma’s lap, half asleep as she runs her fingers through his hair. Angeal has Cloud’s boots settled in his own lap, leaning back on one hand as he watches Genesis and Sephiroth go at it a mile away. Zack is snoring loudly from where he’s splayed out like a starfish next to them, utterly unbothered by the rocky ground of the unnamed moon they’re currently using as a sparring ring.

“Think he’s ever going to get tired of fighting?” Angeal asks, scratching at his jaw.

Cloud snorts, rousing slightly. “What? After all the effort he put into getting us all to this point? No way!”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” hums Aerith from her position leaning against Mama Strife, “I think he could do with another hobby.” Her presence is really more of a testament to Zack’s wheedling abilities than to any affection for her fighting prowess on Sephiroth’s part. Not that she can’t fight—after thousands of years, everyone in their odd little family can pack a hell of a wallop, even and especially Aerith and Mama Strife. She just prefers a healer’s role.

“Fighting _is_ Seph’s hobby,” Cloud counters, sitting up slightly to watch as the man in question sends Genesis hurtling through a distant mountain.

“Another hobby, then,” Aerith amends, laughing a little when it becomes apparent that Genesis’s impact destroyed the mountain’s entire peak. “Oh my. Gen must have been needling him again.”

“Wh’ else ‘s he ever do,” Zack slurs, waking from his post-spar nap at the sound of the impact. 

Distantly, the red-head roars and comes charging back in with a spell that would make a supernova jealous. Mama Strife sighs and raises a barrier around their little group before the radiation can hit.

“Eh,” Cloud decides, laying back. “Could have been worse. Seph’s hobby could have been _LOVELESS_.”

Everyone groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! :)
> 
> There may be one additional surprise incoming at some point. I'm not sure if it will be attached directly to 7C9S or if it will be separately posted within the series.
> 
> (is it bad that I totally ship Mama Strife/Vincent in this universe??? That woman is terrifying.)

**Author's Note:**

> [ Come join me on Tumblr ](https://aimeelouart.tumblr.com/)   
> 


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